


smiling against and believing

by byjuxtaposition



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29735520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byjuxtaposition/pseuds/byjuxtaposition
Summary: A daydream, maybe. The need to ask Enjolras if it is always seems to get lost somewhere between tongue and teeth in the saying of it.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Kudos: 18





	smiling against and believing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loosedart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosedart/gifts).



> Written seven years ago.

_open the door and kiss me_ and he does, arms around his neck and hands in his hair. Grantaire smothers his face and neck and shoulders and every inch he can reach with kisses and listens to his resultant laugh as he walks him backward toward the bedroom. Bumping into the sofa on the way, they steady each other.

In the mornings, he bats the insistence of the alarm away and curls closer and Enjolras has stopped protesting now; he wraps his arms around him instead and Grantaire smiles against his skin and breathes him in. Outside, the early morning mist is burned away in streams of sunlight.

He watches him get dressed from his cocoon, a nest of bedsheets and pillows, reaching out every now and again to untuck his shirt or loosen his tie, just for the way his lips tighten at the corners with the already-failing intention not to smile. Grantaire would pick apart just about anything for that, he thinks, he knows.

Around work, there are minutes accumulating into hours spent sitting in the shade and, sometimes, when it’s quiet enough, they find their fingers laced together, shielded by their own bodies.

Grantaire likes late evenings best, when he knows there’s nothing waiting to drag either of them away and he can convince himself and half-convince Enjolras too that this is the world, nothing outside it, nothing more. Neither of them knows if the idea should be relished or shied away from, but Grantaire rests his feet on top of Enjolras’s while they eat dinner and wriggles his toes because they both know for certain that Enjolras hates that.

They sit out on the balcony sometimes, cramped and content together, and pretend to watch the haze of the city while really watching each other. It’s hard to breathe, hard to believe this is real. The need to ask Enjolras if it is always seems to get lost somewhere between tongue and teeth in the saying of it, and there are always other things to ask instead, things to make him smile or laugh or roll his eyes or fix him with that slightly incredulous look that says more than either of them ever could. It’s not so much his own happiness he disbelieves, but the new and impossible notion that Enjolras might be happy because of him. He didn’t know he was capable of that.

When they’re too tired to stay up but not enough to sleep, they lie in bed together and take turns talking, though Grantaire doesn’t know when to stop once he’s started and Enjolras doesn’t seem to know how to start for stopping himself, but what’s easy, what’s growing easier, is pausing to breathe and to catch himself, to let himself be caught, and rolling onto his side, arms around Enjolras’s neck and hands in his hair, smiling against his mouth and believing.


End file.
